


Roses

by reliquiaen



Category: Agents of SHIELD - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Slowly, not wanting to move too fast in case Skye got the wrong impression, she uncoiled from her spot on the bed and shuffled to the door." - Set between seasons one and two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses

“I’m sorry, Jemma. Open up.”

The words were accompanied by a soft banging on the door. Probably Skye resting her head against the panels. Jemma merely sighed, pressing her face harder into the squishiness of her pillow. She didn’t bother telling Skye to go away, it would be ignored. But perhaps if she feigned sleep long enough the other woman would grow tired and leave.

“Please,” Skye’s voice was so quiet, pleading. There was a scuffling noise as if she were scratching on the door. “Please let me in. I was stupid.”

 _Yes you were,_ Jemma thought, but she still didn’t even stand.

“Dumbest argument I’ve ever had,” Skye went on. “I totally understand now why May’s always saying she hates undercover. Although… somehow I don’t think this is the reason she had in mind. Not the point. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She must have bumped her fist against the wood. “Please, let me in. Please? I’m not leaving until I can apologise to your face.”

Jemma huffed, knowing full well that Skye would carry through with her threat. She had before. Sitting outside the med-bay while Jemma was ignoring her after their argument about Jemma going into the field. _That_ was a dumb argument. Sometimes she had to, end of story. Getting shot was part of the job description.

What wasn’t in the contract she’d signed upon joining the team, was emotional trauma. And Skye was a brilliant actor. So much so that whenever she was on an undercover assignment, Jemma had to expend more effort than anyone else to remind herself it was all a sham. But Skye was so good at it. And it hurt.

“Please, Jemma,” Skye whispered. There was a tremor in her voice that echoed through Jemma’s ribcage and she exhaled heavily.

Slowly, not wanting to move too fast in case Skye got the wrong impression, she uncoiled from her spot on the bed and shuffled to the door. Fixing her best approximation of a glare to her face, she slid the lock up and pushed the door aside. Skye, who had been leaning on the door quite significantly, nearly pitched headfirst into the room. She righted herself with a short gasp and a sheepish expression as she tried not to touch Jemma in regaining her balance.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “For nearly bowling you over just now and for saying you overreacted. I shouldn’t have.” Her eyes skipped over Jemma’s face before settling on some point near her feet. “It was insensitive of me.”

Jemma kept her face impassive. Or well, as impassive as she could when Skye was looking so cowed. She really was adorable.

Then she had the _audacity_ to proffer a bouquet of roses and offer a timid smile. “Can you forgive me for being an idiot?”

In an attempt to remain angry, Jemma folded her arms across her chest like she’d seen Ward do so many times in the past. “What if I didn’t want to forgive you just yet?” she asked.

“I guess I deserve it,” Skye sighed. “I am sorry, though, Jems. At least tell me you believe that?”

“You told me I was being silly for being upset about your mission,” she reminded her girlfriend just in case Skye had forgotten. “Which – need I remind you – was incredibly hard for me to watch objectively while you were _seducing_ that awful man.”

“I know.” Her mouth was still open but a look from Jemma made her teeth click back together.

“Do you know how difficult it was to remember that it was an act?” This time Jemma’s voice shook even though she tried her hardest to keep it steady. “While you were… leading him to the bedroom and throwing yourself at him like that… It _hurt_ , Skye. And you told me I was being unreasonable.”

Skye’s mouth opened again, probably to reiterate that it was ‘just a mission’ or that the whole thing was ‘all an act’. And sure, the sensible part of Jemma’s mind was telling her that was true. But there was a little other bit in her subconscious taunting her with images of the woman she loved making out with some horrible gangster. Not something that was easy to erase, by any means.

“I’m sorry,” Skye eventually sighed once again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I do love you, Jems. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you. You know that, right?”

And her face was so uncertain, doubt lacing her words, feet shuffling as if maybe she wasn’t entirely sure Jemma _did_ know that. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and she tugged Skye slowly into her pod, prodding her at the bed. Carefully, Jemma sat beside her.

“I know that,” she eventually muttered, folding her hands together in her lap. “I know. And I’m still in love with you. That’s why it hurt… the mission and what you said.”

“I was an idiot,” Skye interrupted, twisting to face her, expression open. That didn’t happen often. “It was a stupid thing to say to you and I’m so, so very sorry.”

“I believe you,” Jemma allowed. “But I do have one question…”

“Go for it,” Skye said hastily.

“If Trip hadn’t appeared when he did,” she began cautiously. “What would you have done? Would you have slept with him?”

She honestly wasn’t prepared for the slow, cheeky smile that ghosted across Skye’s face. “There were sedatives in the wine,” she explained. “Enough to put out a freaking elephant. He would’ve been down in a few minutes, then I would’ve probably relieved him of his shoes and shirt, maybe undone his fly. But no, Jems. I would never have slept with him. Just told him I did.” She offered a shy smile.

“Oh,” Jemma breathed. “Alright.”

“And I swear to god I felt horrible every time he touched me,” Skye blurted. “I just wanted to throw up. It was awful. I hate myself for agreeing to that and making you watch. I do.”

“But it was just a mission,” Jemma exhaled. “All an act.”

“I figured of all the people on the Bus, you’d be the one to appreciate those words the most,” Skye told her in a tiny voice. 

“I’m your girlfriend, Skye,” Jemma needlessly reminded her. “Unbiased, reasonable thinking kind of wasn’t my priority while I was observing you. Just that you were doing that to someone who isn’t me.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence that neither of them really knew how to fill. The conversation had obviously run its course, so… Now what?

“Where did you get roses from?” Jemma asked softly.

“I bought them for you before Trip picked me up.”

“Did you plan on using them in an apology?”

“No,” Sky laughed. “I planned on using them as an out-of-character declaration of my love for you.” She hitched a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe some kind of romantic gesture. I don’t know. I just missed you like crazy and I thought maybe I should get you something… Sounds pretty lame now.”

Jemma laughed softly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Sounds perfectly in character to me. Only you would come up with something sweet and not have any reason for it.”

“Do I need a reason to love you, Jems?”

“No.”

“Good. Are roses okay?”

“Roses are okay.”

“Excellent.”

“They should probably have a vase though. Or they’ll be dead by morning.”

“I’ll go get one.”

Jemma kept laughing, dragging her back down to bed. “It can wait.”

 

\---

 

The expression on Jemma’s face two days later when the roses had wilted on her bedside table though was enough to prompt Skye to do it better next time. She’d even get a vase.

 

\---

 

So maybe this was turning into a trend that Jemma didn’t like. Arguing with Skye was honestly her _least_ favourite thing in the world. It subtracted from time they could be using to do something else. Something nicer. Kissing was the first thing that popped into her head and the idea of grabbing Skye by the collar and forgiving her straight up was so terribly distracting. She shoved the image aside and focused on being angry.

“Seriously?” Skye asked in a voice that obviously didn’t know whether it wanted to be shrill and demanding or subdued and respectful. It danced on the line in between and Skye’s face was doing a similar routine. “That was not my fault.”

“Are you sure?” Jemma asked, tone flat, unimpressed.

“Absolutely, one hundred percent certain,” Skye insisted. “Why on _Earth_ would I throw your glasses away? You’re adorable in those glasses. Plus they help you see and all kinds of useful things. I’m not _that_ mean.”

“So what happened to them then?”

Skye did a strange contortionist act with her arms. “I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe they got swept off the table with those scraps of metal Fitz swore were useless for anything. Trip threw the stuff out.” Her shoulders hunched up around her ears. “I’d never throw your glasses away. Or move them, or hide them. Do you know how freaking cute you are when you wear them? That’d be like… shooting myself in the foot. Honestly.”

Jemma sighed. She did have to concede that fact. Skye might be a cheeky, childish idiot sometimes, but she’d never do that. Rolling her eyes, Jemma reached for Skye’s wrists, tugging her close and hugging her tight.

“Sorry. You were just the closest person for me to blame, I guess,” Jemma mumbled into the collar of Skye’s shirt.

She felt Skye smile. “It’s okay. I’ll see if I can find them, alright? You keep doing your science thing.”

Squinting at the words on paper wasn’t something Jemma was fond of. That’s why she had glasses: so things were clearer. Spending four days without her glasses (or her contacts which had also vanished mysteriously) was a pain.

But on the fifth day when she woke, on the table by her bed there was a little hard case with a pair of sparkling new glasses in it with a rose lying on top. Frowning, Jemma slid them over her nose and smiled when she recognised the prescription. Skye truly was magical when she wanted to be.

Under the case was a folded piece of paper. It read: _It was totally me. I’m sorry. I must have scooped it up in that pile of outdated thesis papers you wanted me to burn. Don’t hate me. I got you pretty new ones_.

Jemma had to laugh, but she did glare at Skye when they crossed paths in the kitchen that morning. Her ire didn’t last. 

And neither did the rose.

 

\---

 

After that, whenever Jemma saw a rose anywhere she instinctually expected something to have gone wrong. Sometimes Skye would wear a sheepish expression and apologise for losing a flash drive with experiment notes on it, or getting some coordinates wrong, or for mixing up the wrong ingredients in the sauce Jemma put on her sandwich.

Roses now – for Jemma, at least – equalled a pending apology.

So when she ‘borrowed’ Skye’s laptop in the hopes of finding the information buried on the hard drive that Coulson was freaking out over… she knew a rose was in order. Accidentally deleting things on someone’s computer is just not cool. She chewed her nails to the quick that day, wishing she’d actually bothered to press Skye on where she kept getting roses from at thirty thousand feet.

“Fitz!” she just about screamed as she charged into the lab. “I need your help.”

He turned, pointing the experimental pulse pistol (that he was set on calling the Gamma Gun even though it was incredibly inaccurate) directly at her face. “Oops,” he mumbled, lowering the weapon to the table when she went rigid. “Sorry. What’s up?”

“I need a rose,” she blurted.

“Um… why?”

“Because I think I deleted some program from Skye’s computer.”

His brow furrowed. “And you’re giving her a rose because…?”

“Because that’s what she gives me when she’s sorry about something,” Jemma sighed, unable to mask her exasperation. He didn’t need to quiz her on it, sheesh. Just a little haste would be nice. This was a serious situation here.

“Right,” he muttered. “Yes, because we just happen to have roses up here.”

She frowned. “Wait, you’re not the one who’s been giving her roses?”

“Nope. Why would you think that? Did you expect I was engineering her mystical roses all the time? That’s your area of expertise, not mine.” He chuckled. “Do you really need the flower?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Maybe ask Coulson then. He and Skye are pretty tight.”

Right. Yes. Good call. Jemma scurried from the lab up to his office, skirting the holo-room just in case Skye was in there.

She rapped lightly on the door, waiting for the muffled ‘come in’ before shoving the door in and following it at break neck speed. Coulson looked up with a baffled look.

“You alright, Simmons?”

“Yes,” she assured him and followed it straight away with, “No, not at all. Do you know where Skye keeps getting roses from?”

He shook his head. “I assume she buys them when we land. Why?”

She groaned. “No reason.” Then left, not bothering to wait for a dismissal.

Jemma slumped onto her bed, killing herself inside for not having a way of saying she was adequately sorry. In the end, she decided it was best to improvise. The internet proved most useful in her search for a surrogate rose.

So that when she offered her origami rose to Skye later it earned quite a bit of laughter.

“What did you do?”

“I might’ve… deleted a few things on your laptop,” Jemma whispered. “I’m not very good with computers but Coulson insisted I find the information you’d saved for him and… What?”

“It’s fine. I have backups of everything on my drive,” Skye told her, grinning. She lifted the paper rose to her nose. “But thanks for this.”

“You’re insufferable.”

 

\---

 

Vacationing in the Playground could hardly be considered proper vacationing. It wasn’t very comfortable, there were very few instances where going outside was permitted by Billy (who was mildly paranoid about the secrecy of the base) and it didn’t particularly equate to a relaxing environment. Even if the sofas were incredibly comfortable.

“I’m bored,” Skye whined, slumping into the much larger labs on the ground in the facility. She leaned across one table and stuck her bottom lip out. “Come entertain me?”

“I’m busy, Skye,” Jemma sighed. “Fitz needs my help with this containment cube.”

“I don’t have enough hands,” he added remorsefully.

“Fitz should take a break too then,” she huffed. “We’re on _leave_. It’s okay to do nothing.”

Fitz rolled his shoulders, hunching over what he was doing. “This is more for fun,” he grumbled. “Just to see if we can.”

The corners of Skye’s mouth quirked up in a smirk. “The last time you tried something just because you could, I ended up with uncontrollable sneezes and static hair. It was most uncomfortable.” She shuffled around the table though to get a closer look. “What’s it do?”

Jemma beamed excitedly, unable to stop it. “It’s a small field disrupter that’s designed to capture fugitives in a fold in the plane of reality for imprisonment. It would help _immensely_ with detaining criminals and save so much space.”

Skye’s grin arched higher, but she pressed her lips together in an obvious attempt not to laugh. “It’s a Pokeball?” Once the words were free (in a none too steady tone) she let the laughter loose.

Fitz rolled his eyes but had to nod. “That’s where I got the idea from, yes. Although unlike in the game where the strength and health of your target played a role in how likely they were to remain captured, this doesn’t have that possibility for escape.”

“I’m sorry,” she corrected, wrestling her dying chortles under control. “So it’s a _Master_ Ball. My bad.”

“It’s a perfectly viable solution to a problem,” Jemma retorted even though she could see why this was amusing. “Think about how much space you could save by putting things in here. You could have a box for books, one for clothing, one for DVDs and other assorted electronic devices. It would be so useful. Especially since we live on a plane and storage is hard to come by.”

Skye waved away her look. “I’m not… it’s a cool idea. Sorry if I sounded… mocking, I guess. But _come on_ , Jems,” she pleaded, tone changing on a dime. “Can’t you just come and keep me company for a little bit?”

Fitz bobbed his head and Jemma sighed. “Alright.” Her gloves snapped as she pulled them off. “I suppose I can. What are we doing?”

Skye grabbed her wrist and – grinning like a right fool – dragged her from the lab. “Just wait and see.”

They ended up on the roof of the Playground. Which was to say, they were sitting on a shelf of craggy rock with a very well concealed set of stairs leading to an equally well camouflaged door to the inside of the building. Jemma eyed Skye curiously.

“Can I ask why we’re up here?”

“Sure.” But before Jemma could actually ask the question, Skye pulled a bouquet of roses from behind a protrusion of stone. “Or you could let me explain without prompting.”

Jemma couldn’t help but frown as she relieved Skye of the flowers. Roses always meant an apology was on the way. So she looked at her girlfriend with trace amounts of worry.

“I feel like maybe the meaning behind the roses got lost somewhere,” Skye sighed. “I bought them because you like flowers and I love you so I thought you’d appreciate a nice gesture. They were never meant to be an apology, Jemma, they were meant to be a statement. An ‘I fucked up but I still love you’ type thing. I apologised out loud, but I’m not good at words or feelings so flowers filled in for me. You understand?”

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

“You get this little look on your face whenever I give you flowers now,” Skye lamented. “Like you’re waiting to find out I’ve done something awful and I hate it. So I’m giving you a dozen roses now and something that’s not an apology.” Skye shuffled around on the rock so she was facing Jemma and twisted her mouth up in an effort to fight down the rising red in her cheeks. “I love you, Jemma,” she eventually murmured. “So much. Like… all of it, actually. And I’m going to keep loving you until the last one of those roses dies.”

Jemma opened her mouth to point out that roses snipped from their host plant are already dying. These ones wouldn’t last a week so it was hardly a particularly romantic statement. It was more like an announcement that in a few days they’d be breaking up (which was terrifying). But Skye didn’t let her speak.

“Just… don’t use your science or your insane amounts of logic on this… Please? Just let it mean what I intended.” And she smiled that vulnerable half-smile that not many people ever got to see so Jemma didn’t argue. She just nodded.

“Alright.”

Skye brightened instantly, bouncing on her spot. “I even got you a vase. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Jemma laughed as Skye bounded back inside and dragged her to their room. “Why did you take me to the roof for that?” she asked.

“Because Billy’s a creeper and I didn’t want him listening in on one of his hidden camera things,” Skye explained, holding the door to their room open.

“I’m pretty sure there are activity monitors on the roof, Skye,” Jemma noted as she placed the roses in the orange and yellow vase. It was possibly a little too small for twelve stems, but they wouldn’t be there long anyway. “To keep an eye on intruders.”

“Oh,” Skye exhaled, her face flushing again. “I didn’t think of that.”

“The vase is a nice touch though.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

 

\---

 

Roses were removed from the vase by ones and twos (and threes on Saturday) until only two remained. Strangely, while one of the roses looked awful and sickly, the other still appeared as pristine as the day she’d received them. When Jemma woke up a little over a week later and pulled the now brown rose from the vase she stared at the last one, wondering.

Now that the other roses were gone, the vase seemed much better equipped to handle it. One flower – rather than a dozen – is clearly what it had been intended for. Carefully, Jemma rubbed her fingers gently over the still red petals, amazed they’d stayed so perfect so long.

And then she laughed, realising what the difference was.

She went looking for Skye straight away, wrapping her arms around her neck to kiss her heedless that the kitchen was full.

“It’s plastic,” she whispered into Skye’s ear.

“So it’ll never die,” she agreed, clearly happy with herself.

“It was technically never alive.”

“Pretty sure my point stands. I will love you till that flower dies.”

“Which it won’t do.”

“Correct.”

“So… forever?”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

\---

 

The rose stayed in the vase for sixty-four years.


End file.
